How The Stars Fall
by Clieo Of The South
Summary: [Under Construction! Serious editing happening! ] Pavel Chekov has been kidnapped! With no memory of how he got there or who his captors are, he must team up with his mysterious fellow prisoner to escape. But just who is this strange man, and why does he seem so familiar?
1. chapter 1

**This is an idea I've had for a while... Hope you guys like it!**

Pavel couldn't remember how he got there. He could feel blood dripping from his hairline, making a trail of red from his forehead to his chin. He felt cold, very cold. It felt as if he was back in Russia, but this cold wasn't comforting like home was. This cold seeped into his bones and made him wish he could just curl into a ball and forget everything.

His were closed. That much he knew. He tried to open them, but he couldn't, much to his irritation. His jaw began to ache, and he struggled to find the memory for why.

Pavel heard something across from him. The rustling of clothes, then the clomp of boots on hard ground. He shivered involuntarily, his head hurting with each movement. He groaned and turned his head, feeling somewhat relieved when the pain on his forehead went away slightly.

He heard a gasp. "Kid? You awake?" A voice whispered. It was a man's voice. "Kid?"

Pavel tried to respond. He tried to open his eyes and see what was around him. But he was so cold, and he felt so tired. He gave up trying to wake up, and just let himself fall back into unconsciousness.

~Time Break~

It was another few hours before he finally felt himself waking up. His dreams were of his home. He had been back in Russia, there was snow, and his father was teaching him how to shoot a bow. He was suddenly ten again, and he was happy to be there, listening to everything his father said.

It was a happy dream.

His eyes suddenly fluttered open, taking in the stone roof above his head. It was dark, but not too dark. There was light enough he could make out minor details, but nothing else.

He went to move his arms, but stopped short when he heard the clack of metal chains. His hands went to his wrists, where metal cuffs were welded. The seam was almost invisible, and he felt it, digging his fingernails into the area where the metal met. The chains were attached to the wall beside him, and he sat up, becoming suddenly aware of an ache in his chest, and a pain on his forehead that made him feel dizzy

He looked to all corners of the cell, taking in the rock wall, and set of classic prison bars. He could make out the form of someone laying down in the cell across from him, their breathing deep, they were asleep.

Pavel put a hand to his forehead, feeling the deep gash right at his hairline. It hurt when he touched it, and he moved his hand to his jaw. His skin felt sore and raw. Definitely bruised. He looked down at his knuckles, they were bruised and scabbed over. He'd been in a fight recently.

His confusion began to grow when he looked at his clothes. He was no longer wearing this yellow uniform shirt, he still had his white undershirt on, but the golden material was nowhere to be seen. He wished for the long sleeves, it was still very cold.

He moved his arms the wrong way, and the chains made a loud metallic clang. Across the way, the man sleeping suddenly sat up, Pavel couldn't make out his facial features, but something about him seemed familiar.

"Kid! You're awake! That was some crazy stuff you tried to pull." The man said, his voice carrying a slight southern drawl. It kind of reminded him of Doctor McCoy.

"I-I'm sorry?" He asked, his voice sounded as though he'd just gurgled a bunch of rocks. "What happened? Where am I?"

The man came closer to his set of bars, and Chekov could see the glint of light reflecting off of hair. He had a big, bushy beard. "I guess ya would be confused after that stunt you pulled. You somehow managed to jam the lock open with the metal pin on your uniform. Put up quite a fight against the guards too, man... I wish I had the balls to pull that off."

The more the man spoke, the more confused he felt. "But where are we?" He asked, his eyes searching the darkness for anything familiar. He didn't recognize any of it.

"You're now property of The Collector. He took me about forty years ago."

Chekov frowned in confusion. "Who's The Collector?"

"You'll find out." The man replied, he sat back against the stone wall of his cell. "Man, that stunt was cool."

Pavel didn't even have time to think about the man's words before a door suddenly opened, blinding him with bright light. A man, a guard, he presumed, stepped into the hall separating the two men from each other. He was humanoid, but his skin was a deep greyish blue. He noticed a darker shade of blue on the man's cheek, and he had a slight memory of punching him.

The guard stopped at his cell and unlocked the door. "The Collector wishes to speak with you." He said, his voice had a strange accent, and it made his words seem even more ominous.

The guard unlocked the chains from the wall, and forced him from his cell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, I'm looking for a Beta reader... I'm new to posting so I'm not sure how that works... But if you're interested or know someone please let me know!**

Pavel walked as normally as he could. He had been dragged from his cell, the guard leading him along by the chains around his wrists. When he stood, he immediately felt something in his boot.

It was too big to be a pebble or odd wrinkle in his sock. He had a very good idea of what it was, but he wasn't about to let his captors know he had anything that could aid his escape.

As they walked, they passed other guards who stood at attention next to doors very similar to the he'd just came through. How many people were being held captive?

Finally they walked into an open area. There were trees and plants everywhere and Pavel could hear birds chirping somewhere above them.

It was a beautiful place. They stopped in front of a man kneeling above a rose bush. He was older, his face was covered in wrinkles and he wore a pair of old fashioned spectacles. He glanced up at the guard then nodded.

Pavel watched as the man stood, clapping the dirt from his hands. He had the same greyish blue skin as all the others, but he seemed to have a more human complexion. He pushed the glasses up his nose as he stared at the teen in front of him.

"Oh yes. A fine young specimen. Strong... Athletic build. Appealing facial features. Tell me his achievements." Man said, his voice held less of the accent the guard had, but it was still present in his voice.

"Pavel A. Chekov. Head navigator onboard the U.U.S. Enterprise. Youngest to graduate from Starfleet Academy, youngest winner and current record holder of the Annual Academy Marathon, aged 18, bilingual in English and Russian."

As the guard named of his life achievements, the older man began to circle around him, occasionally poking at his ribs or arm muscles.

When he had finished, Pavel was forced to step back and open his mouth as the he looked at his teeth.

"Yes, quite an excellent specimen. My name is The Collector. You are now my property. I expect you to follow the rules placed before you and will obey my commands. I wish for you to have a comfortable life in my care. If you constantly resist, that cut on your head will only be the beginning." He waved at the guard. "Back to his cell."

The guard began to pull on the chains, leading him back through the hall. Pavel made sure to hide his awkward steps, anxiously awaiting his return to the quiet cell.

The guard opened the door, then unlocked the cell. He escorted him inside, and placed his hands on the metal where the chains were attached. They unlocked and fell from his wrists. "This is your second chance. Don't blow it." He said gruffly, and Pavel rubbed his wrists.

As soon as the door swung shut, he immediately sat down and pulled the boot from his foot, silently thanking himself for being the over paranoid person he was. The communicator clattered to the stone floor, and he grabbed it faster than he thought possible.

"What do ya have there, kid?" His neighbor asked. The man was sitting close to the bars, and for the first time Pavel got a good look at him. He at least 60 or so, and his face was worn and covered with wrinkles. He had a beard, and his eyes were a deep blue.

His face seemed so familiar, but he was too busy with the communicator in his hands to care. "It's our ticket out of here." Pavel replied, he flipped it open.

The activation light blinked on, and he had never felt more relieved. "Does it work?" He seemed to be squeezing himself closer to try and see.

"Yes." He flicked through the channels, going from one to another as he tried to find one that wasn't just static. "Attention! This is ensign Pavel Chekov of the USS Enterprise. I have been kidnapped and I need help!" He called into it, hoping someone would hear it. He set his signal to distress, and he set it down, waiting to hear a reply.

"So you're name's Pavel? I'm George. Nice to meet ya." He put his arm out and Pavel leaned over to shake it from his own cell.

"Don't worry George, my captain will find us. He'll never quit until he does."

"I hope so kid."

Together the two men sat back against the walls of their cells, their ears tuned to the static of the communicator, awaiting their rescue.


	3. Chapter 3

The deck of the Enterprise was bustling as reports were made and delivered. From his chair in the middle of it all, Captain Jim Kirk was restless as his eyes once again went to the navigation console, where a random ensign sat. The unfamiliar man was busy at work, his hands tapping the controls slowly and calmly. Nothing like the enthusiastically fast pace Chekov always worked.

The nineteen year old was always full of restless energy, he always tapped his feet or drummed his fingers as he typed into the console. It was an odd feeling when he didn't hear the constant noise.

The kid had just disappeared. No one could find him on the ship, and after looking through the ships logs, they found no one had beamed to or from the ship at the time of his disappearance. He had simply vanished.

They knew he hadn't run away, Chekov had made plans to meet with Sulu that night, and his quarters were still clean, his pajamas still waiting on his bed.

The ship was on red alert as they searched the nearest planets. If there was one thing Jim Kirk hated, it was people messing with his crew.

~~~

The cells were quiet he slept. Pavel's head rested on his arms as he dozed, the communicator gripped in his hand.

Across from his cell, George sat, his arms crossed. He eyed the doorway to their cell hall, his expression unreadable. He listened to the boy sleeping, his breathing even and calm. The kid was smart, almost too smart. He had so many ideas, and had achieved so much, it almost made him jealous.

At nineteen the boy was on a starship, exploring the universe. George was dismayed to admit the best he'd done at that age was get drunk and party. Though, it was that year of dangerous living that brought him to Starfleet, he wished it had been under better circumstances that he'd left.

From his cell he could hear the static from the communicator change frequencies as it switched from channel to channel. He knew he should tell him it wouldn't pick up anything. He'd done the same thing upon his arrival. But he just didn't have the heart to tell him. Hope was a delicate thing, it could break so easily, he didn't want to be the one to make him lose his.

He heard footsteps and his eyes moved back to the doorway. The light shining underneath was obstructed by boots, and he stood, his arms pressing into the grainy stone. The guard opened the door and George made his way to the opening of his cell. The guard ignored Pavel and his communicator as he quietly opened George's cell and led him from the hall.

The guard kept a constant hold on the older man's arm as they walked, not for security, but to help him walk as be hobbled along. His leg, which was vent at an awkward angle at the knee, could barely support his weight as he took each step.

It was the accident that led to The Collector taking him from his ship that caused his leg to be messed up. They did everything they could to save his leg, but lack of knowledge on the human physiology left it permanently damaged.

George always assumed he should be grateful. It was better than having no leg at all, and way better than being dead. But deep down, he still felt that sense of hatred.

The hallway was cold as he waited for the guard to open the door. It was a different door than the one Pavel had been led through. Inside was a massive dining table, covered in a cream colored table cloth.

Seated at the end with a platter of fruits and vegetables was The Collector. The guard helped George to his usual seat to the left of him, and he sat down, relieved to have his weight no longer on his leg.

The Collector slid the platter closer to him, and he grabbed an apple like fruit. George took a bite, them wiped the juices from his dirty, stained, yellow shirt.

His eyes met the other man. "The new kid's somethin' else."

"Yes. I had been watching him for quite a while before I acquired him. He's a rare specimen."

George felt his face heat up. "He's trying to escape, you know."

"Yes, we are well aware. We have been blocking all Starfleet frequencies since he arrived." The Collector moved a vegetable from the platter to a small plate and began to cut it with a knife.

George sat back in the chair, his face emotionless as he took another bite from the fruit. "Why do you invite me to these?" He asked, his voice sounding more gruff than he intended.

"Why George, I thought after so many years you'd know that I consider you my friend."

He snorted. "Some 'friend', you took me from my ship and left everyone to assume I'd died. My wife, my kids, my family all thinks I'm dead! I could be there with them, raising my kids. But instead I'm inprisoned with a psychopath who likes to invite me tea parties!"

The Collector simply set his fork and knife down. He faced George. "There is no tea here." He replied stiffly.

George huffed and tried to stand up, his knee giving out on him. "I'd like to go back to my cell." The guard placed his hands on his elbow and shoulder. The Collector nodded and they began to walk back to the hallway.

"I hope you change your mind about our friendship, George." He called before they walked out. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed another piece of food in his mouth.

~~~

Back in his cell, George gave himself enough time for his eyes to adjust before he moved to the bars. "Pavel!" He whispered, the sleeping boy didn't wake. "Pavel!"

Pavel coughed in his sleep, and George whispered again. "Whaaaat?" He groaned, sitting up. His eyes met George's, and he lost all anger for being awoken. "What's wrong?"

"I just spoke to The Collector. Does your communicator pick up non-Starfleet frequencies?"

"You spoke with him?"

"Does it pick up non-Starfleet frequencies?!" He repeated, his voice gaining volume.

"No, but I can hack it. I've just got to redo the wiring and it should..." His voice faded as Pavel began to think of all he'd need to do it. "But I'd need something metal, like a hair pin or screwdriver..."

George's fingers went immediately to his left breast as he pulled the pin from his shirt. He tossed it across the way, and Pavel caught it. "Will this work?"

Pavel eyed it. It was a Starfleet pin. "Yes, this is perfect." He said, moving it around in his hand.

"He said they've been blocking all Starfleet frequencies. You need to find a new one before they catch on. If you can get a message out, even to the Klingons, it could be our ticket out of here." Pavel nodded, his eyes scanning the back of his communicator in the dim light. He could do this.

He had to, or he'd never get back to the Enterprise.


End file.
